Casualties of War
by brooklyndyme
Summary: Because the past never really fades away, but they have to grow up. Somehow. A collection of one-shots about the Next Generation.
1. Not Spectacular

Rose Weasley was not spectacular.

* * *

At two years old, she made her mother's orchids dance. Hermione was beaming. Ron's mouth was agape. Molly scooped her in a hug.

"Magic never shows this early. They're usually around seven, I believe. Maybe some spurts beginning around five."

"That's our Rosie. Though, dancing roses would have been a bit more appropriate."

Rose could not remember the incident.

* * *

She did not like Hugo for a very long time. He cried too often, and never slept through the night, and had a ridiculous fondness for biting. Lily wasn't much better.

At four years old, Rose firmly decided she was never having children, and told her parents such. Her father laughed, kissed her head, and told her she was brilliant. She decided that he was her favorite.

* * *

Muggle movies were the most magical things Rose had ever seen. After she and Granddad watched _Citizen Kane_, she insisted on being called Rosebud. She also declared she wanted to be a muggle. This time her mother laughed, pulled her close, and called her precious. Rose decided she didn't have a favorite.

* * *

Rose was faster than Al and James. She could fly better than them too. Nobody ever beat Rose in an arm wrestle, or exploding snap. She taught Hugo to be a decent Catcher, and hold his broom steady.

"Gonna be captain of the Gryffindor team, I bet."

Her third year, she found a Unicorn roaming the Dark Forest one night—always recklessly fearless, her mother said—sleek and black with an almost bronze horn rising from the center of his head. She named him Arion and he let her ride him. High up, the wind whipped through her hair and vibrations of the pounded ground surged through her spine. Rose never rode a broom again.

She knew it wounded her father dearly.

* * *

Rose was made of fire—that was the running family joke. James was lightning. Hugo was the sea. Lily strong like Earth, Al sweet like sap, and Rose, the burning flame, a constant threat of wildfire.

"Funny enough, I think she gets it from Hermione."

* * *

In her fifth year, James and Hugo got into fights all the time. Rose could not figure out why until he stormed up to her in the common room one night and screamed, "Put some clothes on!" Rose had never been particularly chaste with pajamas, always choosing comfort over modesty. It had never been a problem either, until now, she realized, as the redness of the blush rising up her neck also reddened her newly acquired cleavage. Her _exposed_ newly acquired cleavage. She yelled back at James that she could do whatever she bloody well pleased and he had no place demanding anything from her. But from then on, she wore a flannel pajama top over her camisoles when she was in the common room.

* * *

On Rose's sixteenth birthday, a Tuesday in January, she was summoned to the Headmaster's office before dinner, where she found her mother waiting for her. She was whisked away to Hogsmeade. Specifically to the Three Broomsticks, where her mother promptly ordered them each a butterbeer and shot of firewhiskey. They talked about nothing and everything. Hermione asked about Scorpius, and Rose nearly spat up her drink because she had never told _anyone_ about her crush; she didn't even talk to him when he visited Al over the summer. Hermione in turn told her about Lavender Brown and her at-the-time-insufferable father. "I never thought I'd love anyone as much as that boy until sixteen years ago."

Four hours, three rounds, and countless stumbles later she was back in her dormitory. She decided she liked Hermione just as much as her mum, maybe even a little more.

* * *

Rose did not get "O"s on her O.W.L.s. Not a single one. It always confused every one. Rose was brilliant, top of her class; she never got nervous. It didn't make any sense.

It never did faze her.

* * *

The summer before sixth year, Rose went to the muggle cinema precisely four times a week. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday. She saw every summer movie at least three times.

Her father thought she'd finally snapped, James rolled his eyes, and Hugo decided she had to have been dropped on her head, many times, as a baby.

Sometime in mid-July the cashier, an Irish boy with a buzz cut, broad shoulders, and the beginnings of a tattoo peaking out from the right side of his neck, asked what her name was. His shift was ending precisely five minutes before the film would actually begin (previews and such) and he asked if she would mind him joining her. "I haven't seen it yet, you see. I'm curious why you've watched it seven times. Name's Cale."

After their fifth date she came home, kissed each of her parents good night, and went up to bed.

"Ronald, I believe your daughter has fallen in love," she heard her mother say as she ascended the stairs. She heard her father snort.

Rose scoffed too, but the blush made even her hair redder.

* * *

Nobody ever told her and she's furious. Even Scorpius knew. He lets it slip one night when he's drunk and trying to figure out whether or not he wants to be like his father. Draco Malfoy wasn't all bad, he hadn't told them it was Harry Potter under the stinging jinx. Still, he'd let that deranged aunt of his torture Hermione Granger.

She punched Scorpius, ran past Al, and found herself breathing very very hard in the middle of the forbidden forest with Arion seated beside her. That was the first, and only, time he did not let her mount him. She hadn't realized she'd been sobbing until Professor Longbottom ran towards her, terrified. "They tortured her," she said. Over and over again. She couldn't figure out why it bothered her so. He carried her to his office and made her some tea. "It's best not to dwell on that past, Rose. They took too much already, don't let them have your sanity too."

She never told her mother, or father, that she knew.

* * *

After her breath is gone, as she lays in twisted sheets, her body adjusting to being coiled around another person, Cale tells her she has magic in her eyes. She laughs out loud because the magic in his mind, the magic of muggle imagination, is so much more spectacular than what's actually raging inside her. But he thinks that muggle magic is what's there so she kisses him hard and rests her head on his chest. She falls asleep thinking of purity and blood and how the wizarding world has it all backwards.

In the morning she tells him she's a witch. His eyes are magic too and he asks if she has a pointy hat. She transfigures one of his trainers and removes her clothes with a flick of her wand. "Wicked," he smirks.

* * *

Lily Potter's portrait hangs on her floor of the Department of Mysteries. Rose has taken up Lily's old project, the first to do so, and she wishes she could tell her Uncle Harry. But she is an Unspeakable and takes her job very seriously. She'll whisper the amazing secrets of the Universe she's discovering to Cale while he sleeps, but that's as far as she'll go. She wonders if Lily knew exactly what she would do by standing her ground that night; she knows Lily knew.

When she's at home looking at the giant mess of faces she calls family, when the Burrow is literally bursting at its seams, she wants to thank Lily for a sacrifice that cultivated so many more lives than just her son's. But she can't. Instead, Rose commits herself to unearthing the secrets of love, to continuing her work in her stead.

* * *

Rose was always jealous of her cousins. Victoire's hair flowed like liquid silver and Roxanne's curls were tight and springy, capable of ornate braids and twists and life. Lily's red was breathtaking, a dark crimson the color of blood, not the ghastly Weasley scarlet.

But standing in the hotel room staring at her and her husband's reflection in the mirror, his forehead against her cheek, his arms wrapped around her waist so that the gold of her wedding gown made his skin glow, and the dancing white and green orchids circled the fabric beneath his hands, she thought her bushy waves cascaded like lava down the hills of her shoulders. She smiled, knowing he'd be calling her "Red" forever.

* * *

Rose's daughter is born with a full head of hair, tawny brown, but definitely frizzy and bush-like. Her eyes are a sparkling sapphire, like Rose's dad. She's all Granger-Weasley, right down to the magic that Cale sees spinning in her eyes. They settle on Calla because Cale loves the idea of flowers, and Rose wants her to have a piece of him too. She's radiant, bubbling with magic, and Rose, unaware, makes the orchids on the windowsill dance.

* * *

Calla Braden was spectacular.


	2. A Sensible Name

"We weren't going to do it. We had a sensible name for you all lined up. But then, you came out with a smile on your face, and we knew that's who you were."

Freddy was the happiest toddler alive. He was an only child, his best friend could change his hair any color Freddy asked, he had _two_ toy brooms, and he had the best name in the world.

* * *

Freddy wanted to be a quidditch star when he was three. He also wanted to be a curse breaker, and an auror, and Minister of Magic, and a wand-maker, and a bus driver, and a professional eater. When he told his mother his ambitious career goals, she laughed until tears came to her eyes. He wanted to do that, too.

When she asked what he meant, he said he wanted to make people laugh all the time. Angelina scooped him up and carried him to his father's study, where an electric blue haze filled the office, half-hiding the goggle-clad ginger inside.

"That's called a jokester, darling. That's what Daddy does. You're Uncle Fred was one, too." Freddy immediately decided that a jokester was all he ever wanted to be.

* * *

Teddy and Freddy were twins. At least, they liked to pretend they were. By the time Freddy was seven, Teddy had gotten so good at transforming into him, that no one could tell them apart. Sometimes, when Freddy found Teddy crying and clutching a picture of Remus and Tonks, he would hide out behind the shed and send Teddy inside his house. "You can pretend they're yours too for a while."

* * *

The joke shop was not a playground, his mother reminded him whenever she dropped him off. He was to be a good boy and stay in the back room, and work on the lessons she left him with. Freddy had a disease called 'selective hearing', though, and every day was opposite day. He decided he was Dad's personal tester, and it was his job to learn what every single product did. So when Dad worked in the back, or assisted a customer, Freddy snuck a 'project' or two to his makeshift lab to conduct his experiments. A lot of time he got a way with it. But sometimes he didn't.

Like the time he took instant darkness powder to Shell Cottage and terrified Victoire to pieces. Or the day he 'accidentally' tied baby James to a gnome with everlasting super string. When he spends the night regretting trying out a puking pastille, Dad laughs at him in the doorway and Mum strokes his curls saying, "What are we to do with you?"

* * *

Freddy did not want a younger sibling, thank you very much. Even worse that she's a _girl_: useless and boring and absolutely no fun—Victoire and Dominique confirmed that. But Hogwarts with Teddy was so close, and Roxxy such a quiet baby, he found he didn't mind too much. Plus, she always laughed when he "acted up".

* * *

Filch despised him. It was that simple. And Peeves thought he was brilliant. At the end of first year, Freddy felt very accomplished.

* * *

Freddy was Grandma Molly's favorite, he was absolutely sure of it. He was absolutely sure of it, until somewhere around his thirteenth birthday when he realized he was Freddy, not Fred, and looked nothing like his deceased uncle. That was also when he began to hear the slight deflation in her tone whenever she said his name – in his father's tone, too.

* * *

He was not particularly good at Quidditch itself. But he was good at the other part. The important part. The part after the game with red and gold streamers, and loud music, and exploding snap pieces turned into common room fireworks. And no one ratted him out when Neville burst in to shut the parties down. Well, except Victoire. But Freddy figured she'd always be a wench. Neville knew it was him anyway. "You're too much like them. But there's no other half to balance the madness with sense." His father stopped finding the letters from Hogwarts funny.

* * *

Cigarettes were bad for you, as was firewhiskey. But Freddy knew 'rules' were for breaking, and the things to stay away from were often the most fun. "I can down a whole bottle, I bet you."

Fire felt good in his throat. And when he was drunk, Freddy was king. Freddy was the only man in the world, and who didn't want that.

* * *

Freddy took his NEWT exams drunk. His girlfriend told Teddy; Teddy told Victoire; Victoire told Uncle Bill; Uncle Bill told his dad. When he came home from a particularly frivolity filled night, still slurring his words, too many people were waiting up in his living room. There were too many red heads, like embers from life-sized cigars glowing in the dim night. "We're so worried about you, dear." "Just tell us what's wrong. How can we help?"

He didn't say anything. He'd made his mother cry.

* * *

His friends are growing up, and Freddy doesn't like that. Youthful living is the best living in his mind. So he goes to bars alone, and he's the life of the party there, and Roxxy still laughs at his jokes when he gets home.

Teddy's getting married. He still doesn't get it, and he reminds him of the stick up her ass at the bachelor party. Teddy stays up with him all night at the hotel. They talk about a lot of things. "Freddy, you've gotta stop getting drunk alone. I won't be able to meet you at three in the morning anymore, you know." Freddy laughs, dangerously hard.

"Never alone, Teds. Pretty sure Uncle Fred's an invisible ghost. Got him on my back with me."

* * *

The muggle girl with dilated mint eyes offers him crystals. The world becomes the spectacle he imagines in his head.

* * *

His dad tells him he has to leave. Tells him he's doing it for his own good. "We won't keep looking after you like this."

* * *

He stops shaving, and doesn't use soap in the shower. He has to save up for fun wherever he can. Teddy pays his rent, and never says anything about it.

Zoé is born with golden hair, and likes to change her eyes different colors. At least, so he's told.

* * *

On his twenty-fifth birthday Teddy stops by with cake. Teddy sits him down. "Tomorrow, I'm coming here with some healers I know. Pack a small suitcase. It's time you got well." Freddy doesn't say much, and Teddy looks strange. He's not the boy Freddy knew once. "All right," he agrees.

* * *

It's his twenty-fifth birthday. So he takes himself out to the local bar, where he's a regular. He invites everyone left at last call over to his for the after-party. They blast music and sing badly, and it's pretty damn perfect. He stands on the railing of the balcony with a tumbler full of firewhiskey in his hand. "You know, today's pretty damn important. Because, I, jester of the moon, was born reincarnate. So, here's to laughter in desperation!"

He isn't sure if he slips or pushes himself off.


	3. The Real

Lorcan is born first, but Lysander has Mummy's eyes; so he doesn't mind. When Lorcan cries at night, he doesn't wake Daddy. He climbs next to him in bed. "Mummy saw you first. She loved you longer," he promises.

* * *

They never stay home. Daddy takes them all over the world. He shows them gargoyles and trolls and pixies and dragons and tells them tales of 'creatures' undiscovered. Lysander doesn't believe in them. Lorcan does, and he cries whenever Lysander says they're not real. Then Daddy gets mad, Lysander has time outs, and Lorcan gets held more than he does—so he stops telling the truth. He stops saying anything.

"Daddy worries about you," Lorcan says at night.

Lysander shrugs, "So?"

* * *

When Lysander's six, they all go to see the Potters. Daddy says Lily is named after her. He's stopped calling her "Mummy" and no one likes that. Lorcan runs around the backyard with Lily and James. Lysander and Al sit on the porch. Lysander draws; Al plays with quidditch figurines.

"Why do you call your Mum, Luna?" Al asks suddenly. Lysander shrugs.

"I don't think she's real."

"How come?"

"She died before I knew her."

"Oh. My mum and dad say she fought with them. They say she's a hero." Lysander shrugs. "I like your pictures. I have crayons if you want."

Al runs inside to get them, and Lysander rips out a page so Al can color too. Al is Lysander's friend. It's the first time he has one.

* * *

Granddad Xen makes awful tea, but Dad gives him a look when he grimaces, so he drinks the whole cup. After two hours, Dad gets up to leave, and Lysander and Lorcan move to follow him. He stops them. He kneels down before them, and hugs them both.

"You guys can't come. . . it's too dangerous . . . Dad needs a little break . . . I'll be back really soon."

Lysander knows when people are lying, and only one thing Dad says is true. Lorcan cries, and holds his legs, begging him not to go. Lysander says, "Bye," and goes back inside. Lorcan stays on the steps until dark.

When Lysander goes to get him, he's still crying and there's snot running down his nose. Lysander wipes his brother's face with the front of his robes. "Come on, Lorca. Dinner's ready. Don't make me eat by myself, yeah?" Lysander trudges heavy behind him.

The food is as bad as the tea, but it's life now and there's no point in complaining. "Daddy promised to write us everyday," Lorcan says with tears pooling in his pumpkin juice. But he's at last stopped the sobbing, so Lysander says, "Then he will, it'll be like he's always here," and tries to sound like he means it. Granddad Xen looks at them both strangely.

"You'll get to stay in your mother's old room." Lorcan's eyes light up, and Lysander goes stiff.

The room is fantastic whimsy. He recognizes Harry and Ginny on the ceiling—'friends'.

The next night he sleeps on the couch. And the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that.

* * *

Granddad educates them until they're old enough to go to school. A lot comes from his old publications. The last issue announces their birth, and their mother's death. There are pictures of her, bright and smiling, and none of them. "You really do have her eyes, Ly," Lorcan whispers. He storms out after the lesson.

Their father's letters come every few months, with the space always growing in between. Lysander calls him "Rolf" now too. Lorcan writes back right away, and signs both their names.

The letters come with a few galleons. Granddad Xen takes them to Diagon Alley the next day, to get all the things they need. With the extra, Lysander buys books on arithmancy, charms, and the history of magic. He sits up at night and teaches himself.

* * *

Lysander fights. He beats up muggle and wizarding kids alike, any time they make Lorcan cry. Lorcan says he should take Granddad's meditation hours more seriously. Lysander scowls and tells Lorcan so should he. "I'd rather have a face covered in bruises than tears, Lorca. And if you did, too, maybe I wouldn't have as many."

He always apologizes later.

* * *

Dad shows up to see them off. It's the first time he's seen them in three years. Lysander takes the hug, but does not smile, and boards the train before the final whistle blows.

He waits in the hallway for Lorcan, and they squeeze into a compartment with Dominique, and James, and Al, and Rose. They eat chocolate frogs, play exploding snap, and laugh, harder than Lysander thinks he ever has. His legs won't stop jimmying. It's a whole new world.

The sorting is alphabetical so Lorcan goes first, and bounds off towards the land of blue and bronze. Lysander shares a smile with him when the hat is placed on his head.

"Quite clever too, I see," it cackles in his mind.

"Well, Ravenclaw, then."

"And so keen to protect. But it's not quite the same, is it—the curiously ambitious mind. Quite desperate to escape them in fact. Thirsty to be new things."

It calls out, "Slytherin," bold and deafening.

Lysander walks with stone face to his cheering house.

* * *

He knows this is his home. It does not take long to figure out. But third year, sitting in the common room with Calvin Smith and Torren Flint, he realizes the dark cool dungeon is comforting, and the black leather everything feels soft against his back. Scorpius hops over the back of the couch to plop down beside him, moleskin in hand. "I've got all the writing done for the next chapter!" he exclaims. Calvin and Torren roll their eyes as Lysander pulls out his sketchpad. He and Scorpius magically transfer the words to match his drawings. Lysander's learned the charms to make them move, and together he and Scorpius add the background images of the scenes. "We gotta show Al tomorrow, he'll flip!"

"Hey, Sandy!" Calvin calls. Lysander narrows his eyes.

"What, asshole?"

"Creevey's making googly eyes this way again. Think she knows what a wankering nerd you are? Cause personally, I don't see it."

"Haha, fuck you," he retorts.

* * *

In fourth year, Lysander writes their father begging and pleading to spend summer traveling with him. Lorcan passes. He divvies up his holiday between the Potters and the Malfoys. Astoria calls him "love" and Ginny calls him "pet". Family, he learns, feels nice.

* * *

O.W.L year is hell for various reasons. For one, unlike Al and Scorp, Lysander gives a damn if he fails them. He's fighting again, because he'll always protect Lorcan—no matter how far apart they grow. Sarah Raeschum has also proceeded to tell all the Hufflepuff fifth-year girls, that he's a typical Slytherin teenage boy, only after one thing, and will dump them as soon as he gets it. He reminds her they were never actually dating, and he thought he'd made that clear—which he learns, consequently, is the worse thing to say to a woman. But since Mallory, Carla, and Genevieve are still more than willing to get a little sweaty in broom cupboards, he cuts his losses.

"Shame though," Calvin says, "a very fine set of legs on Sarah." Lysander shrugs.

"Not like she knew what to do with them anyhow." Scorp snorts and Al shakes his head. Calvin convulses with laughter.

Scorpius is never the same after January. Lysander doesn't try to 'be there'; he knows better. He sneaks him bottles of firewhiskey instead, and makes excuses when Scorp misses lessons. In April, when Scorp's about to let his future slip away, Lysander and Al take him out to the Black Lake in the middle of the night. They all drink too much. Al says Scorp will never be alone. Lysander speaks for the first time in a while. "They don't make us who we are. They do awful things sometimes. I killed my mother, on the way out. And I've erased her to make it bearable. I haven't seen Rolf since I was eleven. And he sent me a howler when I said I was dropping Care of Magical Creatures. He called our work rubbish, told me I was stuck in the 'real world'. 'You're mother's eyes and you can't see a thing'. Scorp, your father smiled at you writing about a muggle doctor. He had his demons. Sometimes they're inescapable, I guess. At least you know he loved you."

He knows it doesn't really help, but it makes Scorpius stop crying.

* * *

When he and Scorpius set up shop and do it for real, they're an instant hit.

It's a simple story really. A muggle doctor, all facts and figures, that approaches the world like a geometry proof, discovering the supernatural when his wife disappears into a void one night. It's witty and clever and dark and brilliant, according to the Prophet, and even Rita Skeeter can't find a fault. She calls his drawings, 'daring'. "It's amazing to see our world drawn through the imagined eyes of a muggle. And an insight into the artist himself, who renders the world he grew up in, but never truly understood."

Al laughs. "Dad might hate her, but obviously the woman's not completely daft."

There are swanky parties, and live readings, and too many women with very nice legs. Lysander invests all his money. Bank statements, portfolios. He reminds the kids that seek autographs, "you have to know what happens in the real world before you can create your own".

Lysander keeps the letter Lorcan sent folded in his wallet. "Congrats, Ly. You're finally speaking!"

He visits Granddad regularly. He knows now, the man needs company. He stays in his mother's room. At night, he paints on the ceiling. He adds blues eyes, and fireworks, and equations for 'getting through life'. He adds his and his brother's names.

When he's done for the night, he stares up at who she was. "I know you're real now," he whispers.

He's quite sure she understands the promise in his words.


End file.
